


Bridge of Memory

by orphan_account



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Assassins, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23870851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Judy may have been murdered. Or it may have been faked by someone much more powerful for very selfish reasons. Nick isn't really sure, but he'll go through whatever hell he must to find out.
Relationships: Judy Hopps/Nick Wilde
Comments: 15
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: HIIIIIII EVERYONNNNNNNE**

**First of all, if you've read my stories before, particularly _The Tale of Crossfire and the Hustler_ , please forgive me for my lack of responses to comments and reviews. On top of having a very full schedule, I tend to feel a little overwhelmed by the kindness other people show me. I'm often afraid that by responding to them, I will only prove to be disappointing, so then I put it off until it seems too late to respond without making things awkward, aaaand I'm just a mess, basically. I realize this is irrational, though, so please continue to be patient with me. :) I promise I don't mean to seem cold, if that's how I've come off.**

**Secondly, I must let you know that I can't guarantee regular updates for this new story. Again, I have a very full schedule. Nearly every hour of my life is accounted for in some way. However, I've had this story in my head for a long time, and I figured I'd finally publish the first chapter (which I wrote a couple years ago, I think), gauge interest, and spend time writing more chapters when I need an occasional break from my other projects and obligations, _if_ interest seems strong.**

**Also, please excuse any errors. I went over it a few times myself, but I haven't shown it to my regular beta readers because I'm just testing the waters for now.**

**Okay, I'll stop babbling. Here we go.**

**Warning: Depiction of death.**

* * *

Nick let out a low growl as soon as he entered the grocery store. After walking along the streets darkened by the night sky, the fluorescent lights were more offensive to his eyes than usual. Of course, it didn't help that he was still a bit tipsy from his weekly guys' night out at the bar with Finnick, not to mention exhausted from all the hours he'd put in at the precinct over the past week, so his head didn't exactly welcome anything other than darkness at the moment. If he could just go home, snuggle up with his bunny, and sink into blissful unconsciousness, he would, but she had texted him about some food they needed to restock, and he knew better than to walk through the door empty-pawed.

He slipped the phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and peered down at the text Judy sent him. "Carrots," he huffed with a smirk. "Of course we need carrots."

Shuffling toward the produce section, Nick snatched up a basket and started throwing various requested vegetables into it. He slowed to a stop in front of the peppers. Before him was an assortment of reds, greens, oranges, and yellows. Glancing back at the text, he checked to see which color Judy wanted, but she hadn't specified. Well, he didn't want to get the wrong one, so he typed up a quick message.

" _Which color pepper do you want?"_ it read.

A minute went by without an answer. He composed another one.

" _If you don't tell me soon, I'm just getting the orange ones. I know it's your favorite color because you can't stop slobbering all over my fur every night."_

Allowing himself a small smile at his own joke, he shot it off to her and waited another thirty seconds for a response, but none came. With a shrug, he walked away, making a mental note to come back and gather some orange peppers if she hadn't replied by the time he had picked up everything else on the list.

The next things he grabbed were some wheat crackers and a couple blocks of cheese that he knew she liked. "Can't go without that sweet cheese and crackers," he mumbled amusedly to himself.

As he continued meandering through the aisles, he noticed that there was a sale on a brand of wine that they both enjoyed. He was tempted to snag a few bottles right away, but he remembered Judy telling him that they would be on a strict budget for the next couple of months so that they could save up more money for a nice vacation in the summer. Sighing, he noted that she still hadn't responded to his question about the peppers, but he decided it couldn't hurt to send another text asking what she thought about indulging in the wine.

" _Remember that wine that we drank at Bogo's birthday party?"_ he typed. _"There's a really good sale on it right now. Want some?"_

Once again, he lingered long enough for her to reply, but she didn't.

Furrowing his brows, Nick set down the basket, plugged in his earbuds, and clicked on her contact information to call her. The line rang four times before going to her voicemail.

Blinking in surprise, he tried again. Still no answer.

"Huh," he said. Upon checking the time, he found it was only 9:31 p.m. She wouldn't usually be asleep yet, but maybe she was more tired than he realized. It wouldn't be the first time she had hidden her exhaustion from him; it was all he could do to make sure she took good care of herself when they were working on a difficult case, and they'd had a string of them lately.

The thought that she might not be feeling well made him a little more anxious to finish up and leave. He decided to just skip the wine for now, opting instead to throw a few orange peppers into a plastic bag, pay for everything, and head out the automatic doors as quickly as possible.

He hurried down the streets at a light jog, wishing that he had brought a car even though the bar and the store were both only a few blocks from their apartment. Rounding the sign designating their building, he nodded gratefully at the exiting hare who held the lobby door open for him, ambled toward the staircase at the opposite side of the reception desk, and took the steps two by two until reaching the third floor. The door to their apartment was just a few feet into the hallway from there; he stopped in front of the one that read 315, gingerly set down the grocery bags, and fished out his keys. He opened the door, set the bags down inside and next to the frame, and shut the door behind him, blinking in confusion when he found that the lights in the apartment were off. All of them that he could see, anyway. Only the bedroom and bathroom lights would be hidden from this vantage point.

It did seem strange—he had expected her to be home, and she would have left a light on for him even if she had gone to bed, despite his night vision—but he didn't see a reason to panic.

"Carrots?" he called. "You there?"

Silence.

Nick flipped one of the switches, illuminating the hall, and hung his jacket in the coat closet. "Carrots?" he tried again, swiveling his ears forward, but he still heard nothing.

As he began sauntering down the hall and toward the adjoined living room, his nose caught a whiff of something faint. His eyes widened—it was something metallic. He knew that smell very well by now.

Darting forward and slamming his paw on the living room switch to flood the space with light, he glanced around wildly. When his eyes settled on the couch pushed up against the middle of the opposite wall, his mind crashed to a halt as his breath felt smashed out of his lungs.

Judy was slouching in the middle cushion, arms, legs, and ears limp, one palm facing upward. Her head was lolled to the side, eyes still partially open but sightless, a trickle of blood spilling from the side of her open mouth. She didn't move.

" _JUDY!"_ Nick screamed as he rushed forward. He checked her pulse and found none. Her eyes remained still when he waved a paw in front of them. She didn't stir when he grasped her shoulders or smoothed the fur on her head. It appeared that she was entirely oblivious to his frantic panting and half-formed pleas to respond.

Heart pounding and throat constricting, Nick finally regained the presence of mind to whip his cell phone out of his pocket and dial 911. He put the phone on speaker while he knelt in front of Judy, trying to think of something else he could do to rouse her or prove to himself that she was still alive. A female operator picked up immediately.

"911, what's your emergen—"

"It's my wife!" Nick cried. "She's not breathing, she has no pulse, and there's blood coming from her mouth!"

"Sir, can I get your address?"

Nick rattled it off, stumbling over the words as he reached forward to cup Judy's cheek. It was still warm.

"I'm sending an ambulance to you right away, sir. They should be there in three minutes," the operator informed him calmly. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Shaking his head, Nick forced his voice to work despite the overwhelming urge to break down sobbing. "I-I don't know. I came home and found her like this." He fought to keep his breathing under control as he gazed at her blank eyes. "Tell them to hurry! _Please!_ "

"The paramedics will be there as soon as possible, sir, I promise," the operator assured him. "In the meantime, don't move her, as you may cause her further injury. I'll stay on the phone with you until they arrive."

She kept talking, but Nick soon tuned her out, focusing entirely on watching Judy for any sign of life, any sign at all. As his eyes wandered desperately over her body, they settled on the card that had been tucked into her upturned palm. Somehow, he had missed it until now.

The part of his brain that was well-trained in police procedures told him to leave it alone, but it was a pathetic whisper in comparison to the incessant screaming in the rest of his mind. He carefully removed the card from Judy's palm and studied it, his jaw dropping in horror.

It looked like a business card. The words "MAGIC HAT" lined the bottom in swirling indigo letters. Above them, a shiny black top hat was depicted upside down and surrounded by colorful sparkles on a white field. Stormy clouds protruded gracefully from its cavity, appearing to be guided upward by a black, white-tipped wand in the upper right corner. In the blank space below the wand was a small scribbled message:

" _And POOF! She's gone!_

— _Thunder"_

* * *

**If you're wondering what kind of story this could possibly be if an important and much beloved character is dead from the outset, please remember the description. I promise you it's not that simple. ;) This story may be kind of an odd ride, but if you want to know what happens next, I'll do my best to make it worthwhile for you.**

**Good night!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the interest! But who am I kidding? I like this story so much that I'd probably finish it regardless of whether anyone asked. Still, I'm glad that I won't be writing to a bunch of empty seats.**

**Listen—I have no intention of giving out spoilers (except to my good friends if they ask), but I do want to reassure everyone that this story is very WildeHopps-friendly. I love this ship far too much to do anything less. Just... wait a bit.**

**For now, enjoy this next installment.**

**Extra special thanks to two of my very dearest friends, Camoss and Libious, who each played a role in making sure the details made sense and continue to be completely and utterly wonderful in general. My friendships with them are priceless. Honestly, one of the best consequences of joining this fandom has been forming these friendships.**

* * *

_Two years later..._

* * *

Cameras clicked and flashed. Nick ignored all of them.

It was easy to do. He was simply leaning against the wall on one the side of the Precinct One lobby, arms crossed, sunglasses in place. Beside him stood a 20-something-year-old cougar, dressed in the ZPD uniform, looking charmingly ridiculous as he hunched his bulky, football star-like shoulders and wrung his paws. Some feet away, Bogo stood on a podium in front of a gaggle of reporters, his deep voice rumbling authoritatively through the air. It was almost as if a bunch of highly talented animators created him specifically to be a police chief. Uncanny.

Nick glanced at the cougar, whose wide eyes reflected every camera flare.

"Try not to look so eager, Officer Tailor," the fox said, nudging the cougar with his elbow. "Bogo might decide to have _you_ regale the crowd with the tales of our recent adventures."

Officer Tailor's head whipped around, his eyes widening even further, if that were really possible. Nick couldn't help but chuckle.

"Kidding, kidding," he assured his partner. "He wouldn't. He learned his lesson about letting rookies near microphones _long_ ago."

"I have no idea what I would even say," Tailor sighed as his paws fidgeted. "I'm just so sure I'd say something stupid."

"It's not so bad," Nick told him. "All you do is answer the questions they give you with other questions. Makes you sound smart."

"I don't know," Tailor lamented. "I'd probably find a way to create another Night Howler situation or something."

Nick went quiet at that. He tried to blink away the images of a gray-furred bunny in a ZPD uniform standing at that podium, anxiously regurgitating what she'd heard when they'd found the first fourteen mammals who had been affected by the Night Howler toxin. Was it strange that he felt like he'd gladly take that tense, angry, and hurtful day back if it meant he could see her eyes again?

Taking a deep breath, he stuffed his paws in his pockets. "Well, you don't have to worry about it. Bogo will call me up there any second, and you just have to wait here."

Sure enough, Bogo started to wrap up his introduction.

"Officer Nick Wilde, along with his partner, Officer Pablo Tailor, headed the investigation that led to the capture of the Hourglass Killer," the buffalo was saying, reading notecards through a pair of tiny eyeglasses. "It's thanks to their tireless dedication, invaluable insights, and remarkably quick thinking that he is now in our custody, making the Sahara District safe again." He removed his eyeglasses and carefully slipped them into the front pocket of his uniform. "Officer Wilde will answer your questions at this time."

With that, Nick lightly pushed himself off the wall. "Watch and learn, Tailor," he said over his shoulder.

Bogo moved his hulking form away from the podium to make room for Nick, who needed to stand on a stool to reach the microphones. Faced with the reporters' intent gazes, he forced a smirk across his muzzle. It felt uncomfortable. He'd found very few reasons to do anything close to smiling over the last couple of years.

Immediately, he was a met with a deluge of camera flashes as the reporters raised their paws and hooves. Nick pointed randomly to a horse.

"What do we know about the Hourglass Killer's motives?" the horse asked.

"Were his actions spurred by personal trauma? Yes, yes, they were," Nick answered. "Although we cannot disclose details at this time, the Hourglass Killer was bitter about seeing mammals waste their lives, as he saw it. He wanted to create more room in the world for mammals he deemed better fit to live, and he wanted his victims to spend their last moments feeling guilt, shame, and regret over how they lived their own lives. We believe it was his way of coping with his past mistakes."

The reports scribbled notes in their pads. A pig shot her hoof into the air, and Nick nodded at her.

"Is it true that the killer isn't originally from Zootopia?"

"Yes, that's correct," Nick confirmed. "We discovered that he crossed the ocean from Glanden to escape prosecution for the similar murders he committed there. He will be extradited to Glanden after answering for his crimes here."

He gestured toward a zebra who shook his hoof around.

"Was anyone harmed during his capture?" he asked.

"Just my ego," Nick quipped, and the reporters chuckled. "The killer got in a lucky hit during paw-to-paw combat, but I haven't required hospitalization or serious medical attention. Appreciate the concern."

An antelope near the back raised her hoof next. Nick pointed to her.

"Is there a trial date set?" she inquired.

"Not yet, but we're pushing for next month," Nick replied.

Then he gestured toward a capybara near the front, jumping to be seen.

"Do you think the killer has any connection to the World for Prey group?" the capybara queried.

Nick stared at him.

"The World for Prey group?" the capybara repeated, as if Nick didn't know exactly what he was talking about. "The terrorist group charged with hiring an assassin from The Magic Hat to murder Officer Judy Ho—"

"No," Nick interjected. His smirk had vanished, replaced with an icy tone. "We've found no connection between them and, seeing as how the Hourglass Killer is a _predator_ , and the World for Prey Group exists to _eliminate_ predators and their allies, there likely _isn't_ a connection to be found. Despite my personal relationship with the late Officer Judy Hopps, I perform _all_ aspects of my job, which involve hunting criminals _other_ than those connected to her death, but thanks for checking." He stepped away from the podium before his boiling blood could urge him to punch it. "Our time is up. Good day."

Without looking back, Nick stormed through the precinct and toward his desk, which would take him out of eyeshot of the reporters, who kept shouting questions at him. As he passed Officer Tailor, the cougar quietly moved a consoling paw toward him, but he evaded it. The moment he reached his desk, he plopped onto his chair, clenching and unclenching his fists until Bogo had shooed away the last of the crowd. Then he jabbed the power button on his computer, logged in, opened his desk drawer, and started blindly pulling out documents until he remembered that there was already a case file sitting in front of him. Come to think of it, Bogo _had_ mentioned that he already had a new case for him and Officer Tailor.

Speaking of his partner—Nick's ear twitched as he heard the cougar's voice softly addressing Officer Fangmeyer, whose arrival Nick must have missed during the press conference.

"I don't know how to help him when he gets like this," Officer Tailor was saying.

"Just wait it out," Fangmeyer replied sympathetically. "He'll be back to his old self eventually. Well..." She sighed. "As much as his old self as he's ever been since we lost Judy."

"I wish I'd been able to see what he was like before," Officer Tailor remarked. "But I didn't even decide to enter the police academy until after it happened. She was so inspiring."

"She was," Fangmeyer agreed. "And Wilde is still one of our best guys, but he really hasn't been the same since. I wish you _could_ have known him before."

With a heavy sigh, Nick ran his paws vigorously through the fur of his forehead and tried to tune them out. Tried to tune _everything_ out. Their voices, his own frantic voice from two years earlier when he'd called for an ambulance, the voices of the paramedics shouting at each other, the voice of the coroner telling him she appeared to have been poisoned...

He shook his head, mouth a firm line, and refocused his attention on the case file in front of him. It held photographs of one Henry Capra, an aging brownish-gray goat who had recently gone missing. Since he was the owner and CEO of Indicell, one of Zootopia's most prominent cell phone companies, his case was very high-profile. In the back of his mind, Nick was aware that Bogo's decision to trust him with it was a breathtaking indication of how he valued the fox's skills, but it was a little difficult to care at that moment.

Officer Tailor took his seat at the desk across from him after a few minutes. Nick pretended not to see the cougar's attempt at giving him a friendly but awkward smile.

"Henry Capra," he said before Tailor could speak, tossing the case file to him to peruse. "Been missing for three days. His wife last saw him boarding a private plane to Glanden for a business trip. He was in contact with her for most of the trip, but she hadn't been able to reach him for the last three days. His two bodyguards were found dead inside a dumpster yesterday morning."

"Shouldn't the Glanden police be searching for him?" Tailor queried, furrowing his brows as he flipped through the documents in the folder.

"They are, but there's reason to believe that he's somehow back in Zootopia," Nick replied. "His private plane was discovered safely landed just outside the city early this morning, though it probably arrived last night. The pilot appears to have been killed shortly after the landing, but Capra was nowhere inside it. His wife says it would have been highly unusual for the pilot to come back without him. The pilot was apparently very reliable and loyal to the family."

Tailor grunted thoughtfully as his eyes scanned the document describing the crash. "Do we know what Capra was doing on this business trip?"

Shrugging, Nick leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Unfortunately, ol' Capra is notorious for being highly secretive with his business dealings until he tells his public relations department to put them in the news, so we don't really know anything beyond that. The Glandenish police are trying to find out where he was last spotted over there."

"So where should we start?"

Nick almost answered that, but he caught himself. Pablo Tailor had graduated from the police academy with pretty good grades, but he lacked confidence and tended to rely a little too heavily on the fox's expertise. Pasting a patient and encouraging smile on his face, Nick arched his brow at the cougar.

"Where do _you_ think we should start?"

Once again, Tailor's eyes went round. "Uh," he started. "Um... The... The plane's landing site, maybe?"

"Why?"

Tailor blinked. "Is that not... right?"

"No, no, I agree. I just want to know you're not just making random guesses."

"Oh, right. Because it's the only evidence we have that Henry Capra could be back in Zootopia, so we should see if we can find any trace of him. Even though he wasn't there, he might have left hair or something."

"Very good," Nick nodded approvingly. "The crime lab will have already swept for prints, hair, and such, but we should have a look, too." He gestured at the file in Tailor's paws. "If you haven't gotten that far yet, the plane's flight data recorder was new, but the voice recorder was an older model that got erased half an hour after landing. We can check out the plane while we wait for the IT team to provide the air traffic transcript. The coroner is still evaluating the pilot's body, too, so we won't get any clues from that yet. We'll check with him when we get back. For now..." He logged out of his computer and stood. "Let's get going."

* * *

It was late in the morning by the time Nick and Officer Tailor had navigated the busy Zootopia traffic to where Henry Capra's private plane had been landed in a meadow neighboring a lake. The site was surrounded with police tape, but no other ZPD officers were around just then. Wordlessly, Nick grabbed the toolkit from the back of the cruiser and then studied the plane—large, white with two red stripes stretching across the middle, emblazoned with the Indicell logo on the tail. Judging by the lack of scratches, dents, or other signs of distress, there had been no issues with the landing. The door was left open downward like a drawbridge that turned into stairs. A rhino officer stood beside it, apparently tasked with guard duty. He waved amiably at Nick and Tailor as they ascended the staircase and stepped into the plane.

The interior appeared to be as pristine as the exterior—no signs whatsoever of a struggle. A couple tables and luxurious faux leather reclining armchairs lined the sides, pillows arranged neatly on the cushions. Donning rubber gloves, Nick sauntered toward the cockpit, toolkit in paw.

Although the pilot's body had been removed, his blood still spotted the back of the seat—but only that. It had been a clean kill, devoid of any passion, the kind of murder that simply "had to be done" and brought no pleasure. The case file mentioned that the cause of death was thought to be a deep stab wound through the chest, evidenced by the slit in the midst of the blood on the back of the seat, as well as the general lack of blood splatter elsewhere. Most other weapons would have made a much bigger mess. However, if the murder weapon had been left behind, no one knew what it would have been. According to the case file, nothing sharp appeared to be anywhere in the plane.

Nick's eyes scanned the rest of the cockpit. No sign of a goat anywhere. In fact, there was no indication that _anyone_ else had been in the plane. If there were a reason to believe it, Nick might have suggested that the pilot simply committed suicide by sword.

With a sigh, he wandered back out to the cabin. It was empty. "Tailor?" he called out.

"Over here," Tailor answered.

Nick followed the voice toward a curtain separating the back of the plane from the rest, pushing it aside to find Tailor standing in the middle of a kitchenette that consisted merely of a cooler, oven, and a couple pantries. The cougar was staring at the water inside the cooler. After closing it, he opened a few cupboards, which were empty, save for a box of a cookies holding only crumbs. The fox's brows rose.

"Looks like you found something," he said.

"Huh?" the cougar blinked at him. "But there's nothing here."

"Indeed," Nick nodded as he leaned against the wall, arms folded as he nodded at the fridge. "Nothing at all in the fridge, even though the plane flew for roughly eight or nine hours over an ocean?"

Tailor nodded slowly. "So, either he was hungry for the whole trip, or someone else was with him and stole whatever food was here when they left the plane."

"Exactly," Nick confirmed. "And what do you think is the more likely scenario?"

"Well, I guess he might've forgotten to stock the kitchenette if he were in a hurry," Tailor replied, rubbing his chin. "But given the fact that he was murdered—oh! And the fact that the cooler was obviously full of ice—" He opened the cooler again and pointed at the water. "It probably _does_ mean that someone else was here and ran off with the food."

"Bingo," Nick said. "They were definitely here. Let's see if we can confirm it was Capra."

The two officers busied themselves peering closely at each nook and cranny of the kitchenette. Whoever had been there was _excellent_ at cleaning up after themselves; there was hardly a speck of dust to be found, let alone anything that might have DNA.

"So weird," Tailor muttered. "I can't even _smell_ anything. They must've used musk mask. Hey..." He glanced toward Nick, who was examining the inside of the oven. "If Capra _was_ here, that would mean that he probably killed the pilot, right?"

"Well, we don't know who else might have been here, but yes, it might mean that," Nick agreed absentmindedly.

"That would be crazy."

"It would."

"I saw Capra once," Tailor went on. "He was at that huge charity ball at the Blue Pearl Hotel three or four years go. Remember that?"

Nick's mouth twitched into a frown. "I do remember."

"I think it was Terrence Dewlap who threw it."

"That's right."

"You've heard of him? CEO of the Blue Pearl Hotel chains?"

"Sure have."

"My family got invitations because my dad makes contributions to his charities. He seems really nice."

As dark memories of Terrence Dewlap's aggressive leering toward Judy at that ball resurfaced in Nick's memory, he was about to retort with some comments that would definitely _not_ be nice. Fortunately, his phone interrupted by vibrating. He fished it from his pocket and turned on the screen. A text message from Finnick greeted him.

" _Need to talk. Lunch?"_ it read.

Well, it was nearly time for a lunch break, and there was nothing else Nick needed to do then. He quickly replied, " _Sure. See you at Ice Queen in half an hour?"_

Finnick's response was almost instantaneous. " _Obviously."_

With a smirk, Nick returned the phone to his he sighed and took a glance around. "Well, I'm thinking our killer _definitely_ knew what they were doing. They haven't left us much to go by. Hopefully, the IT team will have the air traffic transcripts ready by the time we've talked to the coroner." He picked up his toolkit. "What do you say we go to lunch and meet back at the precinct?"

"Sounds good," Tailor sighed. "Dang it, I really thought coming here was the right move."

"It was," Nick assured him. "Eliminating possibilities is just as important as finding clues. You're doing just fine."

The fox and cougar disembarked from the plane and made their way toward their custom-made cruiser. As Tailor slid into the passenger side, Nick buckled himself into the driver's seat, taking one last casual glance around the area. He paused.

For a second—just a second—it looked like a pair of gray, black-tipped ears were peeking over the swaying surface of the meadow.

But they were gone as soon as he blinked. Shaking his head and ignoring the burning ice that shot through his chest, Nick started the ignition and drove away.

* * *

Soon, Nick strode into the Ice Queen, the bar where he and Finnick liked to meet anytime they needed to talk about something they didn't want overheard. It was frequented mainly by large mammals, like polar bears, reindeers, moose, and snow leopards, who tended not to pay attention to smaller ones like themselves. There were also plenty of shadowed areas and even private rooms if they needed them.

Finnick's diminutive paw caught Nick's attention, waving from a corner table far at the back of the bar. Nick nodded and strolled toward him.

As Nick made himself comfortable at the table, Finnick scrutinized him over his glass of beer. "Been a while," he remarked. "Cop life still treatin' you well?"

"It's fine," Nick shrugged. "Just solved a major case, but already on to a new one."

When the waitress came by a second later, Nick ordered himself a simple meal of a bug burger and water. Finnick never stopped staring at him, eyes narrowed.

"So," Nick smirked, "want to tell me why you're being creepy?"

"Want to promise me you won't do somethin' stupid?" Finnick retorted.

"As long as I get to be the judge of whether or not it's stupid," Nick replied.

"Nick," Finnick said. "I'm serious."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Nick leaned forward and crossed his arms. "I'm not going to promise that I won't react in a way that you don't want me to, but I _can_ promise that I won't do anything stupid. You know me better than that." He met Finnick's gaze silently for a moment. "Now what is it?"

Finnick let out a heavy breath and took another gulp of his beer before speaking. "Well, you know I've been keepin' my ear to the ground for any word of an assassin named Thunder."

Nick stiffened and inhaled sharply. He didn't dare move as he waited for his friend to continue.

"Well..." Finnick thoughtfully tapped his glass with a claw. "I heard word that Thunder is back."

The rest of the bar seemed to become submerged in water to Nick's ears. The name roared in his blood as his heart hammered furiously in his chest.

"Where is he," he asked flatly.

"No one's sure 'bout that part," Finnick answered. "One of my clients sometimes hires The Magic Hat to off mammals who tick him off or compromise his business interests, and his contact there mentioned that Thunder had gone rogue to visit Zootopia. Supposedly, he just arrived recently. Maybe just last night."

"What kind of mammal is he?" Nick inquired, fist frozen in a clench.

"Luckily, my client knew that," Finnick said as he sipped his beer again. "The Magic Hat is entirely comprised of _rabbits_."

Silence stretched tensely between them.

"Rabbits," Nick repeated.

"Rabbits," Finnick nodded. "Highly trained and deadly rabbits. Apparently, the idea is that since rabbits are small and have a reputation for bein'—you know— _nice_ and _cute_ an' whatever, they can do a lot of damage without raisin' suspicion." He shrugged. "An' I guess it's true, considerin' their success rate. They've become one of the most in-demand assassin organizations in the world, from what I hear. Supposed to be based somewhere in Rupeo."

Nick tapped a claw thoughtfully on the table. He barely registered the bug burger and cup of water that the waitress slipped in front of him.

"So we're looking for a rabbit," he murmured with a scoff. "Good thing there are hardly any of _those_ in the world."

Finnick downed the rest of his beer with a sigh. "Well, the World for Prey group ordered the hit on Judy, right? Maybe they'll have an idea of where he'd stay here."

"It's possible," Nick nodded. He guzzled down his water and snatched up his burger, one paw shooting a finger gun at the fennec. "I'll be taking this to go, then. Thanks, buddy. I love ya. I owe ya. Probably a million."

"More like a _billion,"_ Finnick snorted. "Hey!"

Nick pivoted to face his friend and tried to school the impatience away from his face.

"Remember," the fennec said. "Don't do anything stupid."

In response, Nick only smirked humorlessly and turned away.

* * *

As always, Officer Tailor was holding a folder and chatting with Clawhauser at the reception desk when Nick walked into Precinct One. The cheetah was one of the only mammals in the precinct who seemed able to fully put the cougar at ease, but then, he had that effect on nearly everyone. Clawhauser's warm and bubbly personality had a way of relaxing even the surliest or most anxious among them. Today, however, it only sharpened Nick's sense of agitation. Laughter? Merriment? While his wife's killer was in the city? The juxtaposition was almost too much. The corner of his mouth twitched downward.

Drawing upon decades of practice, Nick suppressed all the nerves that raged throughout his body, demanding that he comb every inch of Zootopia right that _second_ until he had the fur of Thunder's neck beneath his claws...

He took a deep breath. Yes. Suppressing all that.

The smirk he pulled onto his face was impeccably casual. He slowed to a stop near Officer Tailor, who smiled in greeting.

"Ready to see the coroner?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," Tailor replied, handing the folder in his paw to Nick. "Took the liberty of putting together some files about the pilot, too."

"Nice work," Nick nodded as the cougar beamed. His thumbed through the papers inside the folder, eyes scouring the text as they made their way toward the coroner's lab.

Minutes later, the two officers were knocking on the lab door. It swung open to reveal Derek Longears. The blond hare was as tall as Nick when he held his ears straight up, and there was a disarming softness in his blue eyes as he smiled up at the predators.

"What's up, Doc?" Nick said.

"Officer Wilde, Officer Tailor," Longears nodded at each of them in turn. "Just in time."

"Our lucky day," Nick said as he and Tailor followed Longears into the lab. He balled his fists in his pockets as he resisted the urge to tackle the hare to the floor and scream at him, see how he reacted to being called Thunder, demand to know why he would kill his wife. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that Longears had been employed at Precinct One for more than half a year, and Thunder was only reported as having arrived in Zootopia quite recently.

Longears led them toward a slab where a jackal lay motionless on his back, eyes closed and body bare, save for a sheet covering him from the waist down. A thin, clean hole marked the part of his chest where his heart would be.

"Charles Goldenpaw," Longears said, gesturing toward the jackal. "Was employed by the Capra family for more than twenty years. From what I can tell, it looks like he was killed by a long blade stuck through his chest. It went deep. Came out his back."

"Any DNA left behind?" Nick asked Longears.

Shaking his head, Longears sat on a nearby stool and folded his arms with a sigh. "There's no evidence at all that anyone else was there with him. Which, of course, only adds to the weirdness of this case."

Nick blinked at the body. That "suicide by sword" theory suddenly seemed a little more plausible. Based on his cursory study of the folder Officer Tailor had put together, though, Charles Goldenpaw hadn't seemed like the type. He wasn't trained in weapons, had no prior history of violence, no record of visits to therapists to treat depression, no connections to any mobs or terrorist groups that could have threatened him or his family... By all accounts, he had simply been a cheerful, honest, hard-working mammal who enjoyed his job and the family who employed him.

"Whoever killed him," Longears mused, rubbing thoughtfully at the fur on his chin, "they must have been highly trained."

All at once, a bridge seemed to slam itself together in Nick's mind, connected by two thoughts—two things that had happened last night.

The plane's landing. The arrival of an extremely dangerous and experienced assassin. A murder that left no traces.

If it was Thunder, where would he go next? Goldenpaw's only notable connection was the Capra family...

A warrant. He'd need a warrant immediately.

"Well, thank you," the fox said, lighting tapping Officer Tailor's arm and turning back toward the door. "Let us know if you find anything else noteworthy."

Every step he took toward the staircase leading to the second floor was brisk, fists restlessly clenching and unclenching. Despite being larger, his partner almost had to jog to keep up.

"Uh, Officer Wilde?" Tailor called as they passed another pair of officers who curiously eyed Nick's stern expression. "Wh-where are we going?"

But Nick had no patience to answer. He let Officer Tailor follow him toward Chief Bogo's door, which he pushed open without bothering to knock.

"I have reason to believe that Thunder killed Henry Capra's pilot," he blurted before Bogo had even glanced up at him through his reading glasses, a paper in his hoof.

The chief's close-mouthed sigh sounded like a low thrum. "Evidence?"

Nick shook his head. "No evidence, just a hunch. I know, I know," he continued when Bogo opened his mouth. "But one of my underground sources told me that Thunder is rumored to have arrived in Zootopia last night. So did that plane. The pilot is highly unlikely to have killed himself, and his murderer left no trace of themselves, so they must have been extremely well-trained. The plane came here from Rupeo, and Thunder is from an assassin group called the Magic Hat, which is based somewhere over there. All the signs are pointing to Thunder."

"So your evidence for this is that there's _no_ evidence," Bogo rumbled contemplatively. "You're just coming up with this theory based on conjecture. And instinct."

"I would say it's extrapolation rather than conjecture," Nick shrugged. "But yeah. Extrapolation and instinct." When the chief said nothing, he added, "And when have my instincts ever been wrong?"

Bogo's ability to keep a blank, unreadable expression rivaled Nick's, but the fox knew that he would respond soon enough. He hardly breathed as his heart hammered anxiously in his chest.

"I'll have the ZBI look into it, then," Bogo nodded.

Nick's shoulders slumped, his face twisting into a snarl. "I didn't come here to pass off a tip! I want to keep working this case! I just wanted to get a warrant to search the Capra's—"

"As far as we're aware, Thunder is a foreign citizen wanted for international crimes," Bogo replied calmly as he steepled his hooves. "That means it's out of our jurisdiction. We have no choice but to hand over this case to the federal agents."

Blood screamed furiously in Nick's ears and pounded against his head. Taking a single deep breath, he pointed his finger at the chief. "You will _not_ take this case from me."

"Wilde," Bogo said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I know that you want to avenge Hopps. We all want justice for her death. But if Thunder is connected to this case, you should be the last officer on it. You know that."

Nick glanced away, not only to make sure Bogo couldn't see the moisture gathering in his eyes, but because he couldn't bring himself to meet the chief's gaze without wanting to claw his face. He swallowed once, twice. "Fine," he finally said stiffly.

Sitting back with a sigh as he picked up the phone, Bogo nodded at the fox. "Thank you for your work, Nick. Excellent as always. I'll contact the ZBI right now." He glanced over Nick's rigid posture. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

For a moment, the fox parted his lips. Then he closed them. Firmly. Took a deep breath.

"Sure, Chief," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

With that, he strode out of the room, Officer Tailor close behind.

* * *

And into the Zootopia City Penitentiary he stepped.

After having left Bogo's office and assured Officer Tailor that he would be fine, Nick had multitasked by calling the penitentiary on his way home. Upon changing into a plainclothes outfit consisting of his usual Pawaiian shirt and slacks, he had spent his journey toward the penitentiary rehearsing questions in his mind. Now he allowed an armed guard to guide him through a maze of blank cement walls and steel doors until they came upon one that opened to reveal a startingly white room. Nick had to blink once or twice before his eyes adjusted to it.

As expected, a dark brown, black-maned horse dressed in an orange jumpsuit was waiting at a nondescript table, hooves cuffed to its surface on short chains. His cool, steady gaze was already scrutinizing Nick as soon as he walked inside. To discourage himself from using his clenched fists to clobber some remorse into those icy eyes, the fox clenched his fists and stuffed them into his pockets as he sauntered toward the table.

"John McMane," he said with a casualness he would never feel toward this mammal. "It's been nearly two years, and you haven't changed at all."

"I'm not the one who needs to," the horse replied tersely. "Society is what's screwed up. _I_ did nothing wrong."

Nick frowned away the urge to scream at him. "Funny you should say that. I'm here about something that you _definitely_ did wrong."

"If this is about your freak wife," McMane said, nostrils twitching, "I'll tell you what I told you before. Nobody at World for Prey ordered a hit on her."

Settling on the seat across from him, Nick sighed and steepled his fingers. "Rumor has it the assassin who killed her is back in the city. Since your group was the last one to deal with him, I'm hoping you can tell me where he likes to hang out or pick up payments. There _might_ be something in it for y—"

"Did you not hear what I just said?" McMane retorted, voice suddenly rising.

But Nick kept his expression neutral. "Oh, I heard it. I just don't have the time or patience to deal with your delusions right now."

"World for Prey doesn't kill!" McMane shot back.

"But it has a history of violence and pushing for extreme regulatory measures to be taken against predator rights and activities," Nick managed to reply calmly. "And you had motive. She was a high-profile advocate for predator rights _married_ to a predator. A six-figure sum had been transferred from your organization to an offshore account that was closed immediately after the assassination occurred and the money was withdrawn. Mammals get put away for a lot less, John."

"Do they often get put away for _lies_?" McMane spat. "What would we have gained from killing Judy Hopps?!"

"One prominent opponent out of your way," Nick answered smoothly and glared. "If you're not going to tell me where your assassin might hide in this city, then I guess you won't be getting a year or two off your sentence after all. I'll just have to ask the guy who took over the group after you got booked here at orange jumpsuit paradise."

"He won't know," McCane snarled. "Because it wasn't us. Prey aren't killers."

Nick rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Okay, ignoring all the many cases the ZPD has solved in which prey were arrested as coldblooded murderers—what, you think you're not dangerous just because you don't have sharp teeth or claws?" He scoffed. "Look at you. Weight and muscle like yours could crush most skulls just by sitting on them. Your teeth are strong enough to break limbs off. Your hooves and legs can kill with a single kick."

"Is that so?" the horse growled. "Maybe you'd be the perfect filth to test all that out on."

For a moment, the fox and horse held a frozen and silent glower between them. It was McMane who cracked it in a low, quiet tone that seethed with loathing.

"We didn't do it," McMane said flatly. "And in fact, you might be interested to know that my friends at World for Prey finally figured out who framed us by funneling the money out. Was a quiet little capybara who'd been one of the lead accountants for years. Killed himself before my old friends could ask who paid him off, but _someone_ did. They're trying to access phone records now." He sneered. "Forget getting one or two years knocked off my sentence. I want an appeal."

Though Nick kept his body still, his mind frantically processed this information. He carefully studied McMane's face for any trace of dishonesty. The horse's brows were etched with anger, his nostrils wrinkled with disgust, but there was no wavering in his eyes, no tension in his shoulders, nothing that would outwardly indicate a lie.

Finally, the fox blinked and stood. Slowly turned.

As he walked toward the exit, McMane shouted behind him. "Hey, you heard me! An appeal! I'm submitting the paperwork today! You put it through and—"

The rest of his words were cut off by the steel door that slammed shut after Nick passed it.

* * *

There had to be something he'd missed.

Something. A hair. A note. A scent.

The possibilities spun rapidly through Nick's mind as he pulled up next to the lonely Indicell airplane in his own car, jumping out of his seat and slamming the door behind him so hard that the entire vehicle shook. He sprinted toward the door.

There had to be something that he just hadn't noticed when he was here earlier. It was impossible that both Judy's assassin _and_ the individual or organization that had hired them to kill her were _both_ walking free and unpunished. It just couldn't be. Justice couldn't be that long denied. There was _no way_ that he could've been sitting around solving _other_ crimes around Zootopia for the past two years while Judy's death went unavenged. He couldn't have failed her _that_ completely.

He _had_ to find Thunder.

His breaths came harder and faster as he burst into the cabin and glanced around wildly. He rushed into the cockpit. Nothing had changed there. He stormed back into the cabin, dropping to his knees and crawling around the floor, peering into every crack and niche. He surged to his feet when he reached the other side, growling and huffing as he slammed open every storage compartment he could find. Then he whirled to face the entrance to the kitchenette. He stomped toward it. He got one foot inside before a small black fist punched him in the face.

As Nick tumbled backward, he only had time to spit out a curse before he had to roll out of the way of a drop kick. He scrambled to his feet and raised his fists into an X-shape just in time to block another punch. In the second it took to pivot around his attacker's attempt at getting under his block to swing at his gut with their other fist, he took rapid mental notes. His attacker was small, shaped like an athletic rabbit, dressed entirely in black, eyes obscured behind a colored plastic opening in their mask.

By instinct, he jumped over the rabbit's sweeping crouch kick, his heart stumbling when he realized that he recognized this combination of moves.

Out of long habit, he followed up with a roundhouse kick that would have clocked the rabbit's head if they hadn't already anticipated it. As Nick expected, they rolled out of the way and rose fluidly into a defensive stance. It was a spar he'd done many times in the past. Nick's gaze roved the rabbit's figure; each curve inspired a memory.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly, eyes wide.

In response, the rabbit slowly relaxed.

And then the plane window behind them suddenly broke into fragments while a different rabbit's foot collided against their head.

A swarm of black-clad rabbits leapt through the damaged window. Some grabbed and held down his attacker, who writhed furiously on the floor. Others sprinted toward him. Only then did it occur to Nick that he hadn't seen a guard posted outside the plane when he'd rushed inside; he'd been too distracted by renewed rage, grief, and confusion. What had happened to the guard? What was happening _now?_

Although he managed to briefly fend off or two, they were soon piling on top of him, pinning him down. At some point during his struggle, one of them slammed his head against the floor.

It seemed like he floated in darkness for only a few minutes after that. Not that he minded. Somehow, he hadn't realized how tired he felt until he was unconscious. Besides, Judy joined him after a few seconds, which made everything all right. She held his paw, let him draw her close to him, and rested with him. He tried to speak, to tell her everything he'd wanted to tell her over the past two years, but the words crowded and clogged his throat. Judy seemed to understand. She laid her head on his chest, and together, they drifted through an abyss. Nothing else mattered.

He only woke up when the rabbit from the plane suddenly appeared and took his paw.

When he blinked his eyes open, he wondered for a moment whether he was still asleep. Everything was dark. But his eyes quickly adjusted, drawing light from the moon that peeked through a window he vaguely recognized as the same one that had been destroyed on the Indicell plane shortly before he was attacked. Which meant he was still in danger. Probably.

With a groan, Nick forced himself to sit up. The aches throughout his body were too numerous to count. Of course, his head fared worst—throbbing, pulsing, spinning. He rubbed it until the pain alleviated enough to let him focus elsewhere.

He looked around slowly. Somehow, he'd ended up on one of the cushy reclining armchairs inside the cabin. The rabbit swarm appeared to be gone, but their scent lingered. In fact, one of them was especially strong.

As his eyes fell on the other armchair parallel to his own, he realized why—and let out a strangled gasp.

The rabbit doe who lounged there on her side had gray fur and black-tipped ears. Her slim figure was adorned with a dark cerulean spaghetti-strap dress, ending just above her knees. She smiled at him with violet eyes that he knew better than his own.

"Hi, Slick Nick," she greeted softly.

* * *

**A/N: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I am enjoying this a lot.**

**Anyone recognize Officer Tailor? He was also in my short one-shot, "Terms of Endearment." He gets a slightly bigger role in this story! And the Ice Queen is a throwback to a bar from** _**The Tale of Crossfire and the Hustler.** _

" **Glanden," by the way, is "England" with the letters rearranged. "Rupeo" is "Europe," also with rearranged letters.**

**I will write the next chapter as soon as I have time. :)**


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